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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22632064">Tea and Sympathy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre'>Fyre</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Little Kindness [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett, Slow Show - mia_ugly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternative Perspective, Partial missing scene</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:55:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,869</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22632064</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sometimes it’s nice to have someone make it for you.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anthony J. Crowley/Avery Fell (Slow Show)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Little Kindness [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>197</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Slow Show Metaverse</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tea and Sympathy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ugly/gifts">mia_ugly</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>gdi self.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It ought to get easier.</p><p>After so many years, Avery wished it would, but no matter how many times he was walked into a studio for the first time, there was still a frisson of nervousness that came with it. The first table read was a measure of how well or badly a show or a film could go. The anticipation, that delicate knife-edge between success and failure.</p><p>Sometimes you could tell from the first line that it just wasn’t working. Sometimes, everything clicked at once. More often than not, there was a stop-start to the process, little problems and kinks to be ironed out, things that shouldn’t have been issues, minor things that felt like snagging your sleeve on a rough edge.</p><p>“Come now,” he murmured to himself.</p><p>He’d been sitting in the trailer for half an hour, leafing through the pages again and again. Not that he needed to. Tracy – wonderful creature that she was – had read lines with him every night until he could recite his part backwards.</p><p>“Told you,” she’d said smugly when he got through the whole read without a script in his hands. She retrieved her glass of wine from the lid of the loo and sank deeper into the bath. “Nothing to worry about, love.”</p><p>“You know I always do.”</p><p>“Mm.” She propped her head back against the bath pillow. “At least it’s an even load. None of this brooding leading man on his own bollocks again.” She made a face at the ceiling. “That one… what was it… the one with you and her with the massive tits…”</p><p>“Careful,” he teased with a chuckle. “You’ll crack your face.”</p><p>She dabbed one finger in the facemask. “Eh. It’s fine.” She waved her glass towards him. “What was that one again. You know? They put you in that suit and made you stare at skyscrapers all the time?”</p><p>“Midnight Castaway?”</p><p>“Mm.” She made a face and this time, did crack the shell of the mask. “At least this one’s got some laughs in it, eh?”</p><p>It did. The script was still being tweaked, but the bare bones of it had caught his attention. Not his usual genre, but there was something about the spark and the wit of it that he liked. Humour without being over the top and realness despite the fantastical.</p><p>He flipped it open again, gazing down at it.</p><p>It was ridiculous to get so nervous about it all. It was a solid script and an interesting character and all he had to do was get to the table and sit down with the rest of the cast…</p><p>And there, the great white whale of a thought surfaced.</p><p>Anthony Crowley.</p><p>He would be sitting down at a table with and acting opposite Anthony Crowley.</p><p>That was enough to make anyone nervous, knowing the calibre of performer they were going to perform with and against. It didn’t matter that it had been years since Crowley had performed in anything. That kind of talent was natural.</p><p>He frowned, closing the script, and recalled the first and only encounter he’d ever had with the man.</p><p>Fascinating, yes, infinitely cool without even trying, and yet there had been a brittleness to him, as if he expected this world of glass and smoke and mirrors to come crashing down around him. Or, worse yet, that he would be the one to bring it down.</p><p>He was coming back to an industry where he had been the black sheep for so long, Not a gentle industry either, made of knives and needles and sly, cutting words.</p><p>Lord, Avery thought, if his own nervousness was anything to go by, poor Crowley was probably dreading the very thought of it. The first step back. Redemption, some might call it. A second chance. Or, if Crowley was as terrified as he seemed, he would more likely see it as a <em>last</em> chance.</p><p>Avery tried to imagine walking into the table read as if it was his first in over a decade, could easily imagine the ice-cold dread down his spine, the panic and pacing.</p><p>Once, he’d had a dry spell for almost a year and he had cried for half an hour before he went into the read when he finally got another role. He’d spent almost the full half hour on the telephone with Tracy, but Crowley…</p><p>Crowley didn’t have a Tracy to hold his hand and tell him he was being ridiculous.</p><p>Well… someone would just have to do that for him.</p><p>Avery got up, setting his script down. A little bit of kindness, that was what he had intended to do, and when better to start? For Crowley alone, so the man could – would – know that it wasn’t just for show, for the rest of the cast, for their friends. That it was for <em>him</em> alone.</p><p>He was halfway to the door before he hesitated.</p><p>Showing up with nothing but a welcoming smile felt a little soft. Better to… to take something. Something calming and friendly and utterly innocuous. Some of his biscuits, perhaps. Or– oh! Yes, perfect.</p><p>Five minutes later, he bustled out of his trailer, making his way through the runners and along the lot to Crowley’s trailer. Of course, the moment he saw the name taped up on the door, his feet betrayed him by stumbling to a halt. Was this a good idea? Surely, if the man wanted any help he… surely, he had to have people to talk to?</p><p>He glanced at the window of the trailer. Not that he could see much, with the blinds down, but there was enough light from within to let him see the frenetically-pacing silhouette of Anthony Crowley. Oh. Oh dear. It seemed he was right on the money.</p><p>Before he could change his mind or stop himself, he leaned forward and rapped sharply on the door, his heart racing.</p><p>Crowley said something, muffled by the door, inaudible and that really wasn’t a good sign.</p><p>Avery rapped again. Oh, please, let someone in. Please. You don’t need to run yourself in circles.</p><p>“I’m having a moment here!”</p><p>The distress and emotion in Crowley’s voice wasn’t surprising at all. Angry, defensive, wary, hostile. All shards of broken glass held together by twanging nerves and panic.</p><p>Avery opened his mouth to say something, but before the words came out, Crowley wrenched the door open. Oh, the poor man was in a complete state, his hair all finger-mussed mess, his eyes wide and startled, sweat beading his brow. Not the kind of state any actor would want to be seen in.</p><p>“I’m sorry to interrupt, my dear,” he murmured as gently as he could, knowing it would be best to let Crowley hide himself from watching eyes, “might I come in?”</p><p>Crowley stared at him for a few seconds too long, as if he couldn’t understand why he was there, then cautiously stepped back. “Uh, sure.” He opened the door a little wider. “If you want.”</p><p>Of course, that was the point that Avery’s plan fell apart. He had intended to simply pop by and deliver the thermos, but the moment he’d seen Crowley’s face, he knew the man needed to have some privacy. Had he made a mistake in coming? But then, he hadn’t said no…</p><p>Casual, he thought frantically, trying not to lean into knowledge that Crowley looked like he was hanging by a fraying thread. Focus on the surroundings and not the man. “Oh,” he said, making a show of peering around the trailer. “This is very nice. What a lovely kitchen you have.”</p><p>Crowley was tensed as a coiled spring, arms knotted in front of him, as if he was holding himself together by force alone. “Sure, yeah.”</p><p>“You get a fair amount of light, don’t you–” Lord, he was babbling. “What a charming sofa. I dare say–”</p><p>“Did you want something?” Crowley’s words were as taut as the man himself, thrumming with self-doubt and worry and wary hostility.</p><p>“Yes, of course–” Avery laughed, a little too bright, Crowley’s brittleness rubbing off on him. He took a breath. “Listen to me, going on.” He glanced down at the thermos in his hands, praying this wasn’t a terrible idea. “I brought you some tea.”</p><p>He held out the flask.</p><p>Crowley took it on autopilot, still staring. And staring.</p><p>“It’s lemon balm,” Avery blurted out, desperately filling the silence. “Do you like that? I should have asked.”</p><p>“I– if I wanted tea–” Crowley gestured awkwardly to the kitchen.</p><p>Avery could feel the heat creeping up from the back of his neck. “Of course. I only thought–” he hesitated, but along with kindness, honesty <em>must</em> be his watchword with Crowley. The man saw the negative side of every moment, waiting for the knife in the back, reading into every unspoken word. “Sometimes it’s nice to have someone make it for you.”</p><p>Crowley’s stare only intensified, liquid and dark, and he really did have the most remarkable eyes.</p><p>“I hope it isn’t too strong,” Avery added carefully. “Didn’t know how you took it.”</p><p>Crowley clutched the flask closer to him, like a talisman, and the thread of panic wound around Avery’s spine loosened up a little. He smiled, tentatively.</p><p>That, more than any bibbling blather, drew a word from the other man, hoarse and dazed. “Thanks.” Disbelief hung on the word, confusion and bewilderment softening the tense lines of Crowley’s face again. He looked lost, Avery thought. As if no one had been kind to him for a very long time.</p><p>And seeing him standing there, clinging to Avery’s flask like a security blanket…</p><p>Avery’s heart gave a treacherous thump. Oh. Oh dear. No. Better to get back to his own trailer. Better to gather his own wits and not stand here and drink in the sight.</p><p>“Well,” he cleared his throat and sidling towards the door. “No trouble. I’ll see you out there in–” He hastily checked his watch. “Oh goodness – in two minutes?” He tried for another quick smile, but was fairly sure it slipped away from him. “I’d better leave you to it, hadn’t I?”</p><p>It <em>wasn’t</em> running away.</p><p>All right, yes, perhaps there was some brisk walking and perhaps his face was rather flushed when he got back to his own trailer and pulled the door close, clinging to the handle for a good ten seconds. But it wasn’t running. He had… it was… all he had done was take a drink to a colleague. That was all. It was <em>fine</em>.</p><p>It was <em>fine</em>.</p><p>Fine, until he sat down at the table read and Crowley sat down across from him and filled the air with lemon balm. Fine, until Crowley met his eyes across the table and gave him a small grin that reached his eyes and lit them up. Fine, until they took up their scripts and words that he’d only ever heard in Tracy’s voice came alive on Crowley’s tongue.</p><p>And it was as if the sea was drawing away after the initial earthquake of their first encounter. Too calm, too perfect, too <em>right</em>. Oh Lord. If he wasn’t careful, how was he meant to avoid the tidal wave when it came?</p>
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